


To Dance With The Devil

by YandereDad



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Attempted Murder, F/M, Kidnapping, Murder, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 07:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YandereDad/pseuds/YandereDad
Summary: How could you refuse the devil, he who murdered both for pleasure and to protect?





	To Dance With The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for a lovely follower of mine.  
> Please consider checking me out at https://yanderedad.tumblr.com/ :3

From the moment they arrived in town something had felt off. Maybe it wasn’t the traveling theater troupe themselves that prompted the sudden anxiety that plagued you, but their arrival seemed to coincide with the start of your maddening paranoia, and the persistent sensation of being watched. At first you had only occasionally felt the burning sensation of eyes on your back when near the imposing tent that had been set up in the square, but soon you felt it in the marketplace too, and then even in the various little corner stores you visited regularly, until no venue was safe from the prying eyes that watched from the shadows.

You had tried avoiding the center of town in the hope that whatever it was, whether real or imaginary, would leave you alone, although you soon found that no matter whether you scurried through dark back alleys or subjugated yourself to longer routes on the outskirts of town, the impending dread that gripped your heart never subsided. 

Even the four walls of your own home did little to ease your silent fears, feeling an invisible yet burning gaze on the back of your head no matter where you hid. At first you thought you were truly losing your sanity, finding windows open you swore you had locked shut and misplacing important valuables far more often than normally excusable, until  **_it_ ** started happening. 

Strange, often disturbing artworks, somehow found their way into your home, depicting sick crimes you didn’t care to analyze. At first you had burnt them, eager to get rid of the gruesome images that haunted your dreams, although your mysterious stalker didn’t seem to appreciate your rejection of their gift, the same murderous scenes depicted in the paintings coming to life in your town whenever you did so. 

You had no choice but to accept them, to let them hang proudly in your home or else become a guilty party partially responsible for the deaths of your fellow countrymen. 

With all considered , perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to wait until nightfall to travel home, foolishly believing the darkness would protect you from the prying eyes that followed your every movement. Your theory did little to protect you from the hulking figure that came to pursue you down cobblestone streets, the unmistakable glint of silver in their hand as they yelled foul obscenities. In recent weeks you had come to assume your stalker would be your end, but is seemed as though your newest assailant would beat them to the punch.

A lumbering body knocked into your own, sending you head-first into the ground. The jagged ground further aggravated the gash on the back of your head caused by the fall, blood steadily trickling down the back of your neck. Blearing up at man, you took in appearance of your soon-to-be murderer - stocky, on the shorter side, unkempt, and perhaps not exactly ‘all there’, judging by the stench of his breath, his clouded eyes and how the hand grasping onto the handle of a blunt knife shook, causing the instrument to leave small nicks in your neck.

You resigned yourself to your fate, eyes clenched shut in in anticipation, waiting for the cool blade to pierce your flesh, to bring your short life to an even shorter end. Strangely enough, you didn’t completely mind the thought of this stranger killing you just so he could indulge himself at the tavern for another night; the other alternative was waiting until your stalker inevitably grew tired of sending you their unsettling art and decided make you the inspiration for their next gruesome piece.   

Out of the corner of your eye you saw a strange flicker of movement in the shadows as your executioner prepared to slit your throat, attempting to steady his hand to ensure a clean cut. 

You almost swore it looked human, but no human moved with such speed or grace, or made murder look like a refined dance rather than the worst of crimes, the elegance of how it’s fingers pulled the silent trigger and the puff blue energy akin to smoke making it all seem rather like a modern art piece. 

You made no attempt to flee the scene, frozen by undeniable fear which turned your legs limp. You simply laid as you had before you were saved, ignoring the gruesome corpse that had been sent flying several feet away by the unusual bullet, unlike anything you had ever seen or heard of in your life.  

All you could do was observe  _ it _ , a creature which appeared to be at least part man by the exposed flesh of a muscular bicep and the form of his body. The strange almost puppetlike arm said otherwise though, along with it’s, or perhaps his, glowing red eyes and iron face. The putrid smell of blood and gore would have been overwhelming, if not for the delicate scent of orchids and roses that clinged to the creature like an invisible cloak. 

With the calmness of a man who hadn’t just committed murder he strode forward towards you, metal boots clanking against the concrete earth, before coming to a stop just in-front of you, crouching his incredible height down to face you, his real hand inching forward to grace your cheek, siding over the smoothness of your skin, something which seemed to send a delighted shiver down his spine.

“ _ No one can kill you except for me - I won’t allow it _ ” his mask did nothing to hide the sickening smirk growing underneath, the comforting threat not something you could say you were expecting, but then again, you hadn’t expected to be saved in the first place, let alone by someone with those same crimson orbs you had become so familiar with during your recent paranoia. 

By the time you let that thought sink in, realization gripping your erratic heart, he had already effortlessly lifted you into his arms, his smirk only growing as you quietly struggled in his firm hold. 

“Don’t worry precious - my talent justifies all actions. After all,  _ art should terrify _ ”

* * *

 

With manic eyes staring down at you, swirling with secretive plans, the shock of it all become far too much, your panicked mind escaping to the serenity of unconsciousness.

For all you knew you were bathing in silk, the threadbare cotton tunic you had put on that morning replaced by a sleek robe with no sleeves that ended before your knees. The comfort that waking to such luxury brought you was easily overwhelmed by pure fear, not just at the questions of who had dressed you or why the garment fit so perfectly, but what had transpired since you had passed out in the gentle, loving arms of someone who was not a complete stranger as you had assumed at first, but a person, if you could even call them that, you had become unwillingly familiar with.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,  _ darling _ .”

You hadn’t noticed the looming figure that learnt against the conjuncture of the walls, hidden by the shadows that danced with the flicker of candles, only his ghastly mask available to your naked eyes. In any other circumstance you would have been embarrassed by the short shriek that escaped before you could clamp your hand over your mouth, but poor manners were not your greatest concern at that moment. Thankfully he wasn’t offended - after seeing firsthand  how comfortably he ended lives, unbothered by crimson guilt, both as a captive audience member and secondhand witness, you were eager to stay in his good graces in the hope that you may return home before the night was through rather than be found hanging in the town square as another one of his masterpieces. 

“Oh, I’ve really outdone myself this time - you look simply divine,  _ just like a puppet _ ” he purred, pushing himself off the wall and striding towards you with lithe legs that left you wondering if he had always been so inhuman - how much of him was flesh and bone beneath the iron and thread? If he could sense your fear he didn’t acknowledge it, sitting at the end of what you had to assume was his own bed, humming nonsensical symphonies while idly stroking your naked legs as though he were both taming a wild beast and were examining the finest fabrics at all at once.  

“But the composition is still missing  _ something _ . Removing you from the mundane symmetry of your life wasn’t enough - no, you’re lovely,  _ oh so very lovely _ , but you haven’t reached your full potential just yet” his voice, haunting and enchanting through his baritone pitch, echoed throughout the bedroom chamber, words blending into each other. His hands began to wander further up your legs, the wooden one finding itself next to your head as he scaled your form to face you, while its flesh brother haltingly dragged itself from its place caressing your bare thigh to toying with the silk belt that drew the line between dency and complete exposure.

“I realize now not only what you’re missing, but what  _ I’m  _ missing - one cannot expect to become perfection all on their own, they need someone else to draw it out of them, like a director does an actor, or a maestro to a musician” as he spoke, tone akin to a purr as he revelled in his discovery, his flesh fingers nibley undoing the knot that held the robe together, allowing the fabric to fall further down your shoulders and part at the valley of your breasts, your nipples beginning to stand at attention from the sudden rush of cool air, the loving graze of the silk and the concoction of fear and arousal building within your depths. 

While his eyes, surely stained with the blood of his victims, indulged in the sight of bared flesh you could only assume he had already had the pleasure of exploring as he dressed you in the same robe he seemed keen on discarding, his hands remained still as though he were worried of damaging such a fine piece of art with his touch, crimson soaked into pores and grain alike. Instead he kicked off his bronze boots, unbothered by the sharp ‘clank’ against the floor, a non-verbal warning of what was to come that you did your best to ignore in the hope that you would be wrong contrary to the growing evidence.

“You’ve.... **_awoken_ ** something deep inside me, an unwavering passion for your heart and soul, an inspiration I have never known, to create for you  _ and with you _ . I will touch your heart just as you have touched mine - I will make a masterpiece out of you, with your body as the canvas and myself as the tools. Your love will make me the perfect artist, and mine will make you beautiful beyond perfection, even more so than you are now”

With melodramatic flourish he flung his tunic open and off his shoulders, revealing the expanse of his surprisingly well-toned chest, firm from his less than savoury hobbies no doubt. You couldn’t help but admire the newly exposed flesh with wide eyes , taken back by the perfect example of the male form that hovered inches above you. The iron lips of his mask curved upwards in a teasing grin, similar yet distinctive from the monstrous smirk he had worn earlier in the evening, as he grabbed one of your hands with his real one, guiding it to stroke his chest. “While I’m flattered darling, I must admit I’m rather nervous to put myself on display for you, although I need that feeling to drive my work...I may be pure, I am not yet perfect, although not even that is enough for me - I must become purely and perfectly divine,  _ with your assistance of course _ .”

When his smooth wooden hand began to slip the robe off your shoulders you flinched in surprise, yet didn’t make any attempts to halt him, from fear for your wellbeing and that of your fellow townspeople. In an automatic and subconscious response you crossed your arms, covered by goose pimples, over your naked chest, self-conscious in-front of the man due to his own attractiveness that left you feeling rather lackluster, the glaring bulge that had been silently straining against his royal chiffon pants long before you had taken notice of it, and the knowledge that he could effortlessly dispose of you should you upset him.

He only chuckled, amused by your bashfulness, before removing his pants in a single swift motion, hoping to ease your nerves by making himself just as vulnerable, or at least as bare as you. When you still remained frozen in place, slightly curled in on yourself to hide your exposed sex from his prying eyes, his grin faltered. As though approaching a wounded animal he cautiously leant forward to hover over you once again, gently dragging your arms to wrap around his broad shoulders before allowing himself to press his full weight against you, his cock excitedly twitching on your thigh, leaking onto you. 

“The stage is set, the curtain has risen, and now our performance may finally begin.”

With a short intake of breath he began to lead you in dance, his iron lips moving to the rhythm he conducted with his tongue - you couldn’t begin to comprehend what sorcery allowed the lips of the mask to move so realistically rather than be molded into place, not when warm flesh began to finger your glistening cunt with the expertise of a full symphonic orchestra. 

He played you with the expertise of a flutist, pulling back for air never too soon nor too late, applying enough pressure to make you sing but just stopping short of making you cry, although he paid no mind to proper tongue technique, unable to deny his urge to explore your divine cavern.

He fingered your cunt like a pianist, playing just the right keys to force such erotic sounds from your mouth, obstructed by his tongue but appreciated nonetheless. Stringing those key cords together he created an two-man opera, your moans, groans, mewls and gasps flowing from one into another in a melodic fashion, as though he were reading the score of your orgasm.

Your crescendo built rapidly with the  _ vivace  _ tempo he set, nails etching crescent moons into the back of his neck as you held on for dear life. He may have looked inhuman, but his skillful hands were simply alien, pressing your clit like a trigger while twisting, scissoring and crooking his fingers inside you with impossible precision. You could feel it, the wave in your stomach about to break, until it didn’t. 

His fingers slipped out of your soaked, stretched pussy, even as your walls gained a mind of their own and desperately tried to latch on, a gasp escaping despite your self-control at the sudden emptiness you were both grateful for and disappointed by. His eyes danced with delight behind the mask, chuckling through his pleased smirk before he teasingly sucked each cum-coated finger clean with the same rigor he had your walls, his previous laughter morphing into a husky moan. “How  _ lovely  _ you taste my darling! I’ve rehearsed this next part for so very long, and now we may finally dance together.”

He didn’t need to be patient, not when your cunt was gaping after being played like a fiddle, and contracting around nothing but air, desperately begging for an encore. His cock wasn’t much better off, head furiously swollen with thick white beads dripping down the slight curve as though he were ready to burst at any moment. 

You were both incredibly worked up, struggling not to cum as soon as he slammed his hips forward with an angled thrust. His hands kept themselves busy trying to memorize the curvature of your body, while his eyes stayed firmly locked on where you joined in a dance typically reserved for lovers, not kidnapper and captive, stalker and victim, murderer and his inspiration.

“ **This-!** This is my love! There is nothing for me than this, than  _ you _ ! I am a slave to this passion that consumes my soul!  **We will be the perfect composition!** ” his voice shook, overwhelmed by the vice-like constriction of your greedy cunt, choking on his elegant words. While your body ached from both the physical attack you had suffered earlier in the evening and the current assault on your pussy, your  _ pianissimo  _ sobbing was from the dread building in the pit of your stomach alongside your long-awaited release - would he stay true to his word and keep you when you were done, or murder you in the name of art? Neither option sounded appealing in the slightest, although you had no choice, not when his lengthy and smooth thrusts descended into short yet sweet out-of-time rams. 

“ **Right on cue!** **_Sing for me_ ** **!** ”

With one final push of his hips against yours you reached the climax of your performance, anchoring onto one another as the crescendo stole your breaths away. 

You were blinded, only able to feel the decrescendo of your orgasm as you legs quivered, and the lullaby of the man’s heavy pants and elongated moans. The warmth that settled in your loins and seeped out of your pussy was familiar, but you were too lost in pleasure to understand that which would cause you terror later, nor the pained grunts that coincided with the same warmth spreading across the flesh of your stomach like the artists signature on a piece of art.  

It was all too much - the months of paranoia, the attack, your almost death, the kidnapping, the conflict that marred your emotions. As you fell from your orgasam-induced haze into the calming embrace of sleep after months without, you finally heard him whisper his name, fitting for a man who prided himself on excellence in all fields of art. 

  
“Your life had no value before me, but now you are so much more, divinity itself. We have shared our passion and created perfection in the name of art, tying our souls together  **_forever_ ** . We will not part until the  _ final curtain call, until I say so _ .”


End file.
